Empty
by MaybeBaby1280
Summary: Clearly this is not a normal, purely-platonic relationship between two colleagues.  But how far will they take it?  Based on the fic prompt of "Foreplay" posted on hughvillefics at LJ.


This is how I know I'm in way over my head.

My life is a series of exquisitely torturous events, each a bit more intense than the last, leading to the realization of every woman's fantasies, albeit potentially at the expense of my successful career. Except that I have no clue when that celebrated day of fulfillment will come. It could be tomorrow, or I may go to my grave awaiting its arrival.

Our hands touch. All the time, and in the most mundane of settings. I hand you the whiteboard marker, and your fingers curl around mine, linger there longer than is strictly necessary. I take note of how much larger your hands are than mine, and wonder what it would feel like if you gently moved them across my heated skin. You struggle to give an injection to a squirming child. She's scared, and you're frustrated because you don't know how to deal with that, how to calm her down. I wrap my fingers around your knuckles and still your hand. After soothing her for just a few minutes, the little girl has stopped crying and sits in my lap quietly as you administer the shot. You look at me with what I think is admiration.

Your hand caresses my body. We're exiting the conference room, and I hold the door open as you fall in step behind me. You place your hand on the small of my back and usher me out of the room. I can feel your body heat through the fabric of my blouse. A mere wisp of silky material is all that separates us, prevents us from touching skin-to-skin.

You're constantly invading my personal space. The conference table is large enough to seat a dozen people, yet there you are, sitting in the chair immediately next to mine despite the vacancy of all the other chairs. I toil through stacks of charting while you read a medical journal, and somehow, over the course of an hour, you have encroached on my work area. Our shoulders graze as we continue working, but our minds aren't fully focused on the task at hand. I can smell the soap on your skin, and I want to trace my tongue down the column of your throat, feel the scrape of your stubble against the delicate skin on my lips. I stretch a bit and adjust my position in the chair, and then suddenly our forearms are pressed together on the table, from elbow to pinky finger. Neither of us move; we just sit there, pretending this is the most normal thing in the world and that the air in the room hasn't grown stiflingly hot.

And then there's the eye contact. We can carry on entire conversations without ever saying a word. I almost feel bad for Chase and Foreman when they struggle to keep up with us during differential diagnoses. Almost. But I get such a thrill out of reading your emotions, your thoughts, in the clear depths of your eyes. Sometimes I catch you watching me when you think I'm not paying attention. It used to make me uncomfortable, but now I crave the sensation of your gaze on me. Whenever I feel your eyes boring into my back, I turn and meet your stare head-on. And I know it affects you too, although you'd never admit it. Just one look at you with wide, pleading eyes, and I have you wrapped around my little finger. I should promise to use my powers for good and not evil, but I never make promises I know I can't keep.

I try not to think about you all the time. I try to become interested in other men. Men closer to my own age, men who are less damaged, more emotionally available. I go on a date with a young doctor in cardiology. He's ruggedly handsome, and a consummate gentleman, but I feel nothing when he kisses me goodnight. Word gets out around the hospital, and you try to bring up the subject casually, but you can't hide the possessive glint in your icy blue eyes. You ask me what I see in him, and I say I think he's sweet. You're not buying it. What I don't say is that if you squint your eyes just right, he reminds me of a younger version of you. I prefer the present-day version, though.

Despite my best efforts, I do think about you. More than is healthy. Like right now, for instance, I'm running the events of this afternoon's conversation through my mind as I lie in bed trying to fall asleep. I found you in your office today, playing a game on your DS and sucking on a lollipop. I had intended to ask you a question about the latest test results for our patient, but I drew a blank when you pulled the sucker out of your mouth and swirled your tongue around it. Your actions were affecting me, and you knew it. I stood there, jaw dropped open, a speechless idiot. You grinned with satisfaction. You can be such a bastard sometimes.

You put the sucker back in its wrapper and asked me if I had plans to see the doctor from cardiology again. I tried to play coy, asked you why you cared.

"Because I might need you to stay with the patient tonight," you said as you stood up and tossed the DS onto your swivel chair. You took three slow, lopsided steps towards me, forgoing the cane for such a short distance. "And today is Friday. Most popular night of the week for dates. It's my right as your boss to know if your schedule is free."

I cocked my head and contemplated the expression on your face. You looked almost… hopeful. That maybe I would say _No, House, I have no plans for tonight because I dumped that loser and am keeping my calendar open indefinitely so that I'll be ready whenever you get your head out of your ass and finally make a move on me._

Truth or not, I refused to give you the satisfaction.

"You're full of shit, House." I was feeling especially bold, and judging from the way you raised one eyebrow, you found my language intriguing. "Our patient is fine, he doesn't need a babysitter. Why do you really want to know what I'm doing tonight?"

You took another step forward and answered my question with your own inquiry. "Right. So then you're not seeing him again?"

Dammit, how can you always read me so easily? I said nothing, just turned my head and examined the collection of knickknacks on your desk. I palmed the giant tennis ball, rolled it around in a little circle.

"Why did you dump him?"

I swiveled my head back around and stared at you defiantly, my hand still resting on the tennis ball. "Who says I dumped him?"

"Oh please, Cameron, it's obvious." You rolled your eyes in exasperation. You were leaning against the desk now, your hand curled around the edge, just centimeters away from mine. I still moved the ball in circles, but more slowly. When you spoke next, your voice was barely above a whisper. "What was he missing? What couldn't he give you?"

"It's not that, it's just…" I lost my train of thought when I looked into your impossibly blue eyes. I loosened my grip on the ball and allowed my hand to slide onto the desk next to yours. Our fingertips were so close that I couldn't tell if they were actually touching, or if I was just perceiving the heat radiating off your skin as a palpable force. I hoped you didn't notice that my entire body was trembling.

"Tell me something Cameron," you said, and your breath was soft against my cheek. I felt your hand inch forward, then our fingertips were undoubtedly touching, and it was like electricity coursing through my nerve endings where our skin made contact.

"What's that?" The words broke as they came out; my mouth was suddenly dry, and my lips wouldn't form the syllables as I willed them to.

"What do you find attractive in a man? Other than being damaged, that is."

My eyes widened. I felt cornered. How could I answer your question without giving myself away? Short of flat-out lying, what could I possibly say that wouldn't make it sound like I was holding up a neon sign that read _"Allison Cameron is pathetically in love with this man"_, complete with a flashing arrow pointing right at you. I decided to try being vague.

"Well… I, uh, I guess I like what most women like. Intelligent, witty, good sense of humor, kind – "

"You're evading." Again, your hand crept closer to mine, and your fingers draped across my knuckles, so gently, like a whisper.

I searched your eyes with mine, silently pleading, begging. _Please don't ask me to do this. You already know, so why do I have to say it?_

"You think intelligence is sexy? Is that a turn-on for you?" Thank god you showed a little compassion for once and steered the conversation. I don't think I could have spoken at that point.

I nodded my head and let my eyes slip closed for just a few seconds before looking up at you again. We were so close, just a breath apart. I watched hungrily as you licked your bottom lip. Oh, the things that tongue could do…

"What about physical attributes? What do you find physically appealing in a man?" Your hand moved again, and oh god, your fingers were sliding up the inside of my wrist, dancing across the sensitive skin there like you were playing a piano. My entire world consisted only of your touch, your voice, your scent, your body so close to mine, yet not nearly close enough.

"Tall," was the only word that came out. I struggled to add more to my description, to say something, anything, but my breath was coming in small gasps, making me lightheaded.

You smirked at my response. Damn you. Did you find your power over me amusing? Did you enjoy making me squirm? Fine, let's see how you hold up under pressure. I shook my head to snap myself out of my trance, then pulled my hand away from yours. I gave you a teasing grin, then slid my hand up your forearm, over the crook of your elbow, and underneath the sleeve of your t-shirt. My fingers squeezed, digging in to the firm muscle of your biceps, which flexed as you made a fist and exhaled sharply.

"You want to know what I find attractive in a man? Ok, fine. I do find intelligence sexy, and I find extreme intelligence _extremely_ sexy," I said in a smoky, sultry voice. "I also like confidence, and talent, in all its manifestations."

I noticed that your breath became more rapid and shallow, and just a thin ring of blue was visible around the perimeter of your dilated pupils. This was like verbal foreplay for you. I wanted to continue and see how you would respond to my words.

"I like kindness, but not false displays of sympathy. I like a witty sense of humor, and yes, I've even been known to appreciate sarcasm from time to time." You squinted your eyes in suspicion, but I continued on. As I spoke, my hand slid up your arm, around the curve of your shoulder, and then laid flat on your chest. I could feel your heart beating rapidly under my palm.

"As for physical attributes, well, I love the feel of stubble scraping against my cheek." I brushed my fingers across your jaw line before burying them in your hair. "I like hair that is just the right length for threading my fingers through. I like a tall man, so that I can stand on my tip toes and lean into him when we kiss. And I absolutely cannot resist gazing into the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen…"

I stood on my tip toes and leaned into you, just like I said, and your lips parted in expectation of what was about to happen. I had every intention of kissing you until we were both breathless, but fate had other plans. At that very moment, Foreman barged into the office, his nose buried in the patient's chart, going on and on about why our present diagnosis couldn't possibly be correct. I quickly backed away from you and exited the office, afraid that Foreman might notice my flushed skin and grow suspicious. But as I walked into the conference room, I turned my head over my shoulder and held your gaze until you looked away.

I snap back to reality, to my quiet apartment and my half-empty queen size bed. I realize that as I recalled this afternoon's near miss, my hand has snaked its way down my belly and into the waistband of my panties. I'm dripping wet, and my finger slides easily from my clit to my entrance, back and forth, teasing. My thighs part and I push two fingers inside myself, imagining they are your fingers. My other hand joins the first, pressing against my clit as I pump my fingers in and out, curling them on each upstroke. Slowly, to make it last. I close my eyes and I can see your face so clearly. When I imagine us together like this, you always watch me intently as your fingers bring me to edge of oblivion.

It's not enough, so I use three fingers, imagining they are your cock. I wonder what it would feel like to have you inside me, my legs wrapped around your waist. I think about the size and shape of your cock, how tightly my inner muscles would grip you, how you would move slowly at first to let me get used to your girth. Then you would speed up and thrust your hips into me, lost in the blissful sensations. My fingers are moving faster now, pushing in deep and at an angle so that I hit my g-spot with each stroke. I wonder what sounds you would make as you got closer and closer. Would you place your lips against my ear and growl, or would you moan loudly as I raked my nails down your back? How would you respond when I cried out your name as I came, arching into you and spurring you on to your own climax? What facial expressions would you make as you spilled into me and I rode out the waves of pleasure?

I circle my clit a few more times, and then I'm coming so hard that my back arches off the bed. I can feel the pulsing spasms of my orgasm gripping my fingers, and think, _This is what you would feel. This is what you would do to me._ I'm moaning loudly because there's no one around to hear me, and then without even thinking, I cry out your name. After all the times I've thought about you like this, this is the first time I've said your name out loud, and it sounds both foreign and familiar. _House_… One syllable that I say countless times every day, but it takes on an entirely new meaning in this context. I like the way it feels, so I say it again and again as I gasp for air. And then suddenly the hot tears are streaming down my cheeks and staining my pillow. I weep as I come, because my fingers are not your cock, because I have nothing to wrap my legs around, because your lips are not pressed against my ear, and because I am empty where you should be filling me.


End file.
